


Unfinished tales of bugs and cats

by ghostgirl19



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: AUs galore, F/M, I'm just not really into miraculous ladybug anymore :/, Sorry guys, love square, my many unfinished wips that I'll probably never come back to
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-26
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:47:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 18,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27717695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostgirl19/pseuds/ghostgirl19
Summary: A collection of WIPs for Miraculous Ladybug that I'll never finish. Mostly Marichat and Adrienette, with one DJWifi
Relationships: Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug, Alya Césaire/Nino Lahiffe
Comments: 16
Kudos: 30





	1. Superman AU

**Author's Note:**

> This is a collection of all my unfinished WIPs for Miraculous Ladybug. I'm not into ML anymore so these have just been sitting in my documents for a long time without any progress. They won't be continued, but I hope you'll read and at least get some enjoyment out of them :) 
> 
> The decision to do this was inspired by my friend Papayapart on Tumblr. She's been posting her unfinished art pieces for ML and I thought why not do the same for my writing? She's a great artist and just a cool person in general; go and give her some love!

Alya tried not to fidget in her chair, all while the man who practically held her future in the palm of his hand sifted through her resume, scrutinizing her articles from University she had deemed some of her best to present.

Paul Petit, as the gold nameplate on his desk read, was the editor-in-chief of one the best news outlets in Paris: Le Gazette Parisien. Applying to such a superior outlet as soon as she graduated University might not have been the wisest decision; she probably should’ve started lower and steadily made her way to the top.

But Alya always strived for the best, and Le Gazette Parisien was the best of them all.

Although, the longer P. Paul Petit read her articles silently with a scowl she was starting to suspect was permanent, the more her confidence drained and suddenly she was regretting this entire interview and wishing she applied to a smaller news outlet instead. At least her chances of getting hired on the spot would’ve been greater there.

“Hmm,” he murmured at last, prompting Alya to sit up straighter. Her hands were folded neatly in her lap as she gave her possible future boss her undivided attention. This was it, he would either hire her and she would scream in joy and dance, or he wouldn’t and she’d go home and cry over a bowl of ice cream about it to Marinette, despairing of how she would never make it as a big shot journalist and be forever doomed to write mediocre stories that nobody would read at a mediocre outlet and living a mediocre life.

Hmm, on second thought, maybe she wouldn’t cry to Marinette about it. Because that scenario was a pure Marinette-quality breakdown and clearly her best friend was beginning to have an influence on her.

P. Paul Petit cleared his throat. If possible, Alya sat up even straighter. She hoped he’d make his decision soon, her lower back was starting to hurt from the strain.

“I’ll be blunt, Mme. Cesaire,” he said, that scowl never lifting off his lips. Maybe it really was permanently there. “You’re a good writer.”

She smiled, relief hitting her like a tidal wave. Her shoulders slumped at the new, relaxed feeling and she opened her mouth to thank him, but he silenced her by raising his hand.

“I’m not finished. Yes, your articles are well-written. You had a successful internship and despite that and your work on your University’s newspaper, you still managed to keep up with the Ladyblog. While it’s impressive, it’s not anything I haven’t seen before. I want a reporter who is different, someone who can give me something new. And while your articles were good, I already have journalists who can give me the same thing and better. They’ve been at this for years while you haven’t even begun professionally yet, Mme. Cesaire.”

Alya blinked. His words felt like a ton of lead just dropped into her stomach. Honestly, she would’ve preferred if he just said he didn’t want to hire her and to get out of his office. To hear that she was just like any other journalist out there, that she had nothing special to offer…well, it hurt.

She opened her mouth again, to politely thank him for his time and to go on her way, but he lifted that hand again that effectively made her mouth close.

“I’m still not finished,” he said.

He leaned closer to her, his eyes narrowed while he studied every detail on her face. His black mustache twitched as he hummed in consideration. Alya swallowed and attempted to give him her best unaffected stare back, although it probably didn’t hold the same amount of weight that his did.

“I’ve seen your videos on the Ladyblog. You’ll go to great lengths to get a story, sometimes even risking your life to do so. I want that dedication in a journalist, and I’ve already said that you’re a good writer. So, I’ll make a deal with you.”

Alya’s eyes widened, not expecting this outcome at all. A deal in order to get the job? What kind of deal would this be?

“I want something new. Something that no one else has been able to offer me or to anyone else. What I want is an interview with Carapace. If you can get me that, you’ll be a journalist here, Mme. Cesaire.”

He must have noticed the ensuing astonishment on her face, for he was quick to speak again.

“It doesn’t have to be on camera or anything. That turtle always retreats in his shell whenever he sees so much as a cell phone pointed at him.” He growled the last words, looking away from her to glare at something to the side of the room, probably thinking of many past attempts to secure an interview with the elusive hero.

“But-but Carapace doesn’t do interviews, camera or no camera!” she protested, belatedly realizing that it was the first time she spoke since she first stepped foot in his office. But there was no way that she could accept this task, it was impossible!

“Which is why I want it so bad,” he replied, turning back to her, still with that ever-present scowl.

“Get me an interview, and a picture of Carapace for a bonus, and you’ll have a career at the biggest news outlet in Paris. Good luck, Mme. Cesaire.”

…

“So, how did it go?” Adrien questioned warily, taking note of Alya’s frown and occasional stomp in her step before she slid into the booth.

Alya, Marinette, Nino, and Adrien all agreed to meet at their favorite café after Alya’s interview. If she was hired it would be a celebratory lunch, if she wasn’t then it would be a chance to encourage her and tell her that there were plenty of other places she could work at. It was also a good excuse just to meet up and hang out while having some of their favorite food.

“I’m screwed,” Alya deadpanned.


	2. Donkeyskin/All-Kinds-Of-Fur AU

Once upon a time, in a kingdom there lived a noble family of three. They were Lord Thomas, Lady Sabine, and the little Lady Marinette. There never was a more kindhearted and just family, according to the home’s servants. Indeed, the Lord and Lady were never cruel or mistreated those of lower rank. In fact, it was a common saying among the servants that not even living in the grand castle of the king and queen could measure up to life in their little country estate.

Not to mention, being able to care for the baby Marinette was a delight for those lucky enough who were able to get a turn tending to her. She hardly cried and never fussed. Her big, blue eyes were frequently wide and filled with laughter.

Especially so when she managed to grab an unsuspecting person’s hair and tug with all her might. The resulting yelp never failed to cause the baby to shriek and laugh.

But as they say, all good things must come to an end.

The fire was quick to erupt and spread throughout the house. Wang Fu, the Lord and Lady’s personal healer, had been tending to the baby’s fever when it the strong, pungent smell of smoke reached his nose.

Only two things ran through his mind: get the baby and get out.

As gently but fast as he could, Fu scooped Marinette from her crib and tore out of her room. The flames were already starting to overtake the stairs in the main hall, which led to the only exit.

He could hear servants yelling and screaming. But the ones that rang most in his aged ears were the cries of the little baby in his arms.

Fu grunted once, making his decision.

Shielding Marinette to his chest, he bent his head and ran through the fire. He yelled as his legs and arms were briefly, yet effectively burned. In the next second, he was outside, helplessly watching the once impressive estate go up in flames against the night sky.

At once he peered down as the baby in his arms. For the most part she seemed alright, given her healthy wailing and unblemished skin. Thanking whatever deity was watching at that moment, he allowed himself a moment to breath a sigh of relief.

He froze when a new set of screams reached his ears.

“Lady Marinette! Where is the baby?!”

“Has someone taken her?!”

“Is she safe?!”

It was the next one that drove an icy arrow through his heart.

“My baby! Marinette!”

Breath caught in his throat, Fu looked up to what was once Marinette’s room. Through the window, he could see the lord and lady frantically searching, ripping apart the crib but coming up with nothing but a blanket and some stuffed animals. Father and mother were crying out their baby’s name, hoping to hear any sort of cry, searching for a sign so they could find her.

When all the while, she was right outside, safe and sound in the healer’s arms.

“My lord, my lady!” Fu shouted. “She’s safe! Marinette is safe!”

But his voice was drowned out by those of the servants and the lord and lady’s still inside. He wanted more than anything to go back and drag them all out, but he daren’t leave the baby’s side. If, heaven forbid, he went back in and perished, then the little baby would be all alone and utterly helpless. She would die without a provider.

Blinking back tears, he tightened his grip on Marinette and shouted again for the lord and lady, praying for them to hear. For anyone to hear.

But nobody came rushing out of the house. He could still see Lord Thomas and Lady Sabine running around their baby’s room, checking every nook and cranny and occasionally running to the hallway to check if a servant found their baby.

“My lord, my lady!” he tried again, his throat raw from screaming. How long he had been out there, he couldn’t tell anymore. “I have Marinette! She’s outside!”

His heart nearly stopped when Lady Sabine paused.

Slowly, she turned her heard towards the window. Her eyes looked to the hills beyond, then down, lower and lower until they rested on their healer with a bundle in his arms. A bundle with two familiar small arms and legs, and ten tiny fingers and toes that she once referred to as ‘piggies’. A tuft of black hair she knew was soft to the touch shone, and when the head turned, Sabine visibly gasped and brought a hand to her mouth.

All this time spent searching, when she was outside all along.

Her husband joined her at the window, and even the man whom many considered a rock with unyielding strength couldn’t hold back his tears once he saw.

At that moment, Fu could hear nothing. All he was aware of were the kind, selfless, and brave lord and lady of the house as they gazed down upon their healer and baby for what they knew would be the last time. Fu could see the flames beginning to take over the room just behind the couple.

 _I promise_ , Fu silently vowed. _I promise I shall care for her. Your Marinette will be happy._

The last thing Fu saw before the house collapsed were the lord and lady’s smiles.

…

The next time Lady Marinette encountered death; she was eighteen years old.

Her aunt was lying in what was more than likely going to be her deathbed by the end of the night. The doctor said that he could do no more for the ailing queen. Now, it was only a matter of time of when she’d pass.

Marinette squeezed her hand, hoping the small gesture brought any sort of comfort for the dying woman.

Her aunt lightly lightly returned the squeeze and directed a weak smile to her niece.

After Marinette’s parents perished in the fire that also took her home, her caretaker, Fu had brought her to her only living relatives: King Théodore and Queen Mireille. Mireille and Sabine were loving sisters. As such, there was no hesitation from Mireille to take in her young niece and give her the life Sabine would have wanted her to have.

She was fed only the finest, clothed in only the richest, and educated by only the greatest.

Mireille loved Marinette dearly, and sincerely hoped that her niece could see how much so before she passed on from this world.

Théo took his wife’s other hand. He was frowning, and if Marinette looked hard enough, she could see the unshed tears glistening his eyes. It was the most emotion that Marinette had ever seen him show.

Her uncle wasn’t really the…open sort. Growing up, Marinette only saw him when he was sitting on the throne, conducting business with those who came to inquire something of him, and at the supper table in the dining hall. Their interactions had always been brief, oftentimes awkward, yet civil.

Marinette didn’t think he resented her. He was just a man who kept to himself and didn’t open up easily to others…even if they’d been living together for nearly 18 years.

“My darling Marinette,” Mireille called, prompting Marinette’s attention.

The young lady bowed her head. Her aunt, the queen, the woman she had come to know and love as a mother, would always have her respect.

“Yes, Aunt?”

“Please, leave me with your uncle but a little. I wish to speak with him privately.”

Marinette frowned, not understanding what could be so private enough for her to leave the room, before immediately chastising herself for it. She shouldn’t be selfish enough to believe that she deserved all of her aunt’s time. Her aunt loved her uncle immensely, and as his wife, she was entitled to spend as much time with him as she wanted. Besides, who was she to deny a dying woman’s wish?

“Yes, of course. I’ll be right outside.”

Marinette shared a look with her uncle before she left.

He nodded once, silently thanking her, before turning back to his wife. Marinette took the hint and left the room.

As she walked down the hall, to give the couple some privacy, she reflected on what she had seen prior to leaving her aunt’s side. Strangely, when her uncle had looked at her, his eyes were completely dry. Hadn’t they been wet but a moment ago?

He must have been quick to catch his falling tears.

…

Queen Mireille’s death had been a blow the kingdom struggled to recover from. How could it be that their vibrant, seemingly healthy queen had passed within a week of her mysterious illness?

Perhaps worst of all, the late queen had borne no heir to the kingdom. About a month after she passed, Théo found himself bombarded by his advisors. They were quick to offer their condolences, but quicker to remind him that it was imperative for him to remarry and give the kingdom a proper heir. A mere lady didn’t make the cut.

The king assured them that all will be well, and that they’d have their heir soon enough.

One night, when Marinette was in her room, readying for bed and reflecting on what she could do to help her uncle in his grief, she heard a knock at her door. It wasn’t often she got nighttime visitors; they generally ranged from her aunt to the maid bringing in her tea.

Well, her aunt was dead, and she hadn’t requested any tea.

No matter. Perhaps it was a servant wanting to check if she was well and didn’t require anything else for the day. It wouldn’t be the first time it has happened.

Imagine her surprise when she saw it was her uncle that entered the room instead.

“Uncle Théo?” she asked. What was he doing here? He never visited her room or went out of his way to seek her out at all.

She didn’t understand, until she did.

Of course, he came here. He needed someone to confide in with his grief. Other than him, no one else had been as close to Mireille as she herself was. Not to mention that she was the only blood tie he had left to his late wife. It shouldn’t have surprised her so much that he would want to speak with her. Maybe this would be the turning point that would lead to a closer relationship?

She’d later realize how ironic that last thought would come to be.

“Marinette,” he greeted, coming to stand behind her chair in front of the vanity she was sitting at. She had been brushing her hair before he had arrived, and upon receiving her visitor, had placed the brush down to give him her undivided attention.

“Yes, Uncle?”

He didn’t say anything at first. Marinette could only describe the way he looked down on her as s _trange_ , as she peered at his reflection in the mirror.

She wasn’t sure if it was a trick of shadow, but she could’ve sworn his brown eyes had darkened further upon looking at her hair. A corner of his mouth slowly curved up in the barest hint of a sinful smirk.

A shiver ran down the lady’s spine.

Suddenly he raised his hand. Inch by inch, he dragged it closer and closer to a lock of his niece’s hair. Marinette fought the urge to squirm, her stomach twisting in knots as her uncle gently brushed the lock away from her neck. To add to her growing unease, he then placed his hand on the freed expanse of her neck, his thumb rubbing small circles on the pale skin.

If anything, his smirk curled deeper at the sight.

What was he doing? Why wasn’t he saying anything? Why was he looking at her like this? Why was he so close and touching her so intimately?

“U-Uncle?” she forced out through a shudder.

Fortunately, he dropped his hand and the smirk shifted to that of a warmer smile.

“Marinette, my darling,” he crooned.

_My darling?_

“I simply wished to bid you a good night, and to tell you that I’m making an important announcement tomorrow. I expect you to be there, dressed in your finest. I recall Mireille telling me of a dress you recently completed with the assistance of the seamstresses. It’s very beautiful from what I’ve heard. Wear that one.”

“That one?” Marinette asked, her mind conjuring up the image of the very dress he spoke of. She shared the sentiment of its beauty; she considered it her finest work. It consisted of five layers, decorated with pink flowers over a lighter shade of pink silk. The hip had a silken butterfly attachment, and the top had flowers swirling throughout.

However, there was one problem.

“But it’s a ball gown,” she pointed out, frowning. “Not very suitable for just announcements.”

“Ah,” her uncle breathed, once again placing his hand on her shoulder. She couldn’t help but tense upon the contact. And when he bent to press his cheek to hers, peering at their reflections with another of those wicked grins, her stomach churned, and it took every ounce of willpower to not move her head away.

But this was her uncle. She shouldn’t be feeling this way, right? He was family.

Those thoughts ceased to a halt when he next spoke.

“But this won’t be _just_ an announcement, Marinette. I insist you wear that gown. After all, everyone will be looking at us.”

“Us?” she echoed, confused. He always ignored her during proclamations to the advisors and courtiers. She could be present, but she was never permitted to speak a word or otherwise draw attention to herself.

What was going on?

“Now, now, we can’t spoil the surprise,” he said, in a tone that filled her with a growing sense of dread. “Just because you’re who you are, doesn’t mean you’ll get any special treatment. Now, I insist you go to bed and get plenty of rest. You must look your best tomorrow.” He pulled away to whisper in her ear, “and don’t forget to wear the gown. I know you’ll be absolutely breathtaking, my darling.”

Marinette could only stare at their reflections in stunned silence when he suddenly tilted her head towards his. Before she could question the move, his lips hovered dangerously close to the corner of her mouth.

“Uncle?” she whispered, the dread shifting to alarm before he lightly kissed her, just missing her lips.

“After this night, you won’t refer to me by that anymore.”

With that whispered promise he turned around and left her room, leaving Marinette’s heart racing with fright and white-knuckled fists pressing into her lap. Her skin tingled where her uncle’s lips had touched, and most assuredly not in the good way.

Her hairbrush lay forgotten on the vanity as she tried to figure out the meaning of the whole encounter.

…

She promptly received the meaning of it the next afternoon.

With all the court gathered in the throne room, King Théo had invited Marinette to sit beside him in the late queen’s throne. The gesture came as a shock to everyone in attendance, Marinette included. Despite the person in question being her niece, Mireille had only been buried not even two months ago, yet Théo didn’t mind someone else occupying the seat?

However, he was still the king, and ultimately the one who held power over them all. Thus, Marinette picked up the skirts of her voluminous ball gown and obeyed, though not without some hesitation.

She tried not to think of how she was sitting in the same spot a dead woman once did.

Her uncle stood from his throne, smiling broadly as the whispers of the crowd eventually died down.

“It is with great joy that I have you all here in attendance on this momentous day. As you all know, when my wife left this world, she had failed to provide me an heir.”

Talk about brash. The kingdom’s grief over losing their queen was just beginning to fade, and their king has the gall to publicly talk of her faults? Marinette’s soft smile didn’t slip, but she allowed her fingers to close in a trembling fist.

Théo continued speaking as if he wasn’t being faced with dozens of offended looks.

“She was well aware of this before she passed. For her last wish, she requested that I remarry, but with a…condition.”

This caused the offended scowls to turn to frowns of puzzlement. Even Marinette slightly tilted her head, wondering what her uncle was getting at.

“That condition being: that I marry none except a woman who could match her in beauty and virtue. At first I thought the task impossible, for who could possibly compare to my lovely Mireille? But then I took one look at _her_ , and I knew.”

Her? Who’s ‘her’? Marinette hadn’t seen any foreign princesses or ladies suddenly wandering around the halls. Nor had her uncle gone to another kingdom to court one. Who was he talking about?

For reasons she couldn’t explain, her stomach began to get the same, sick feeling it had the previous night when her uncle visited.

“Gentlemen, it is with great pleasure that I announce my bride…the lovely Lady Marinette!”

Several things happened at once.

The crowd gasped, erupting into scandalized talk.

Théo ignored them all and smiled, gesturing with his arm to Marinette, inviting her to stand with him.

Marinette’s heart thundered in her ears and she slumped back in the throne, all the color draining from her face.

_My bride…the lovely Lady Marinette!_

_My bride…_

_My bride…_

_Bride…_

Her own uncle, the man who agreed to take her in as a baby and care for her, wanted to marry her, his own niece?!

He wanted to marry her, bed her, have her bear him his heir! The thought of _that_ had her stomach churning worse than it ever had the night before. It was a wonder she didn’t empty the contents of her stomach right there on the throne room floor.

Suddenly the room felt very hot, even though it was the beginning of spring and the air was still cool. Air entered her lungs in ragged breaths, the lady finding it hard to breathe.

_Bride…_

_Bride…_

_Bride…_

Through the black spots invading her vision, she could make out her uncle—fiance’s?!—face.

“Come now, my bride. Stand with me as you face your kingdom as its future queen.”

The voices of the courtiers reached her ears.

“His niece!”

“He can’t marry his niece!”

“Is this a joke?”

“This is sin!”

“Has he gone mad?”

“His niece, the mother of his heir?!”

_Bride…_

_Mother…_

_Heir…_

The last thing Marinette saw before darkness took her was her dear uncle grinning down at her.

**Chapter 2**

Fortunately, the next sight that greeted Lady Marinette provided her with much-needed comfort.

“Master Fu?”

The old healer said nothing, but smiled at the sound of his name as he removed the cool cloth from her forehead.

Marinette slowly sat up in her bed, at first wondering why the man she considered her guardian was here. She didn’t recall being sick and felt fine.

Until it all came rushing back to her.

Marinette gasped in horror, causing Fu to frown as he realized that she remembered. He was honestly hoping she’d somehow forget.

“Master,” Marinette desperately called. She grabbed his hand as she snapped her head up to look at him, eyes filled with desperation and tears. It took great strength not to close his own, having hoped to never see such an expression on the kind, loving girl’s face.

“Master please, tell me it’s not so. Tell me it isn’t true that my uncle intends to take me as his wife!”

Fu turned away, unable to look.

“I’m sorry, my child, but it’s true. King Théo intends to marry you in a week’s time.”

“But it can’t be! I’m his niece! It’s disgusting!”

“That is of no matter to him.”

“I can’t marry him,” Marinette refuted. “I just can’t. He’s lost his mind to think he wants to marry his own niece. Please, Master, I can’t marry him.”

“He’s the king,” Fu reminded, which only served to turn Marinette’s terror to rage.

“He could be a god and I wouldn’t care! I refuse to marry my uncle.” Anger subsided, Marinette lowered her face. The chills as she realized what exactly would entail in her uncle’s plan wrapped their icy tendrils around her heart.

If her uncle got what he wanted, she’d have to do what a queenly wife was expected of her. She’d have to _lay_ with him, for enough times as it took until she was with child. She’d have to birth that child, and if heaven forbid it was a girl, she’d have to repeat the process over and over again until she got a male heir.

Sharing a bed with her uncle, over and over and over, even when it wasn’t for the sake of creating a child, was enough to get her head spinning again. He could summon her to his bed just for his own sick, twisted pleasure whenever he felt like it.

Luckily, Fu whipped out the bucket just in time to catch the lady’s vomit.

“Breathe, my child,” he murmured, rubbing soothing, gentle circles along her back. “Breathe, Marinette. Everything will be fine.”

“No, it won’t,” she denied when she was done, coughing afterward. As she peered up into her caretaker’s eyes, Fu couldn’t remember a single moment he had seen them filled with such despair and hopelessness.

“It won’t be fine. I’ll have to lay with that…that _man_.” She refused to call him her uncle now.

_“After this night, you won’t refer to me by that anymore.”_

How could she have possibly known that this is what he had meant?

“Please, Master, I beg of you to help me. If there is any way to escape this fate, I’ll gladly take it.”

A corner of his mouth curled up. “There’s no need to beg, my lady. I have an idea of how to dissuade him from this foolish notion.”

A glimmer of hope sparked in her chest. “You do?”

“Of course, I do,” he reassured, resting a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Long ago I promised that I would care for you and ensure your happiness, and I have full intentions of keeping that promise. Now listen, for you must tell him this when you next meet…”

…

After Théo was sent word that Marinette had awakened, he just as quickly summoned her to have supper with him. Apparently, he wanted to spend some quality time with his future bride and talk of his plans for the big day.

Marinette swallowed back the bile in her throat as she approached the dining hall.


	3. Cinderella AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is probably the longest WIP and the one that's the closest to being finished. I just couldn't think of a way to tie up the ending, but they do live happily ever after ;)

Marinette smiled as her partner once again led her through a simple yet graceful spin. Her red gown with silk black hemming flared along with her movements perfectly, the beauty of it capturing the awe of the guests watching the dancing couple.

King Gabriel had organized a set of masquerade balls that would last for a span of three nights, in the hopes that his son, Prince Adrien, would choose a wife amongst the women that attended. According to the invitations sent out to all the homes in the village, every eligible maiden in the kingdom was to be present for all three nights.

It didn’t say what the consequences would be if a maiden didn’t show, but who would want to miss out on a party that would be free of cost to attend and possibly leave you with a princely husband in the process?

And so, Marinette had immediately gotten to work on designing and creating three lavish gowns to wear. She was immensely grateful for her parents who had helped with some of the funds for the supplies, the deal only being made provided if she helped for a few more hours in the bakery, of which Marinette was all too happy to comply with.

Unlike most of the girls in the kingdom, she wasn’t there to attract Prince Adrien. Granted, he was handsome, and most definitely the most eligible bachelor in their kingdom, but beyond that Marinette didn’t know him, and thus wasn’t too particularly interested in marrying him.

She wanted to go to have fun and seek approval of her gowns. Not that she was vain, she just wanted the assurance that she did a good job and that they didn’t look horrendous like her mind sometimes insisted upon.

Out of all the guests who had complimented her, she had to say that it was her current, and only during the past three nights, dancing partner who had been the most vocal in praises.

He had introduced himself as Chat Noir, as was befitting of him concerning his choice of wearing black leather ears atop his golden hair. They matched his mask and attire, of which was all black except for the emerald green embellishments.

Since he didn’t give out his true name, she didn’t divulge hers as well. She had introduced herself as Ladybug, remembering the color scheme for her dresses. Chat Noir had grinned at that and requested a dance, to which she said yes to. He seemed charming enough and kind.

She soon found him to be an excellent dancer as well, when he led her through spins and dips flawlessly. He must have had extensive dancing lessons in his life for him to be so impeccable at the art.

After that first dance he asked for another. She accepted since he made a good impression on her, shoddy cat-related puns aside. This ended up continuing throughout the whole night, and by the end of their last dance, he asked for her true name.

She didn’t reveal it to him, giving the excuse that people at masquerades are not supposed to let the other guests know their real names. He was a nice man, but something tugged at her brain to not let him know her identity. He accepted her refusal without complaint, save for a crestfallen expression, but immediately after brightened up and kissed her hand. After that he politely requested her first dance for the next night, seemingly determined to be her only dancing partner from then on.

She accepted. After all, it wasn’t as if Marinette was looking for dances with other men. She was solely interested in enjoying the royal ball to the best of her ability; Chat Noir had simply become part of her enjoyment.

The next night he asked for her name two more times, each sounding more pleading than the last. Still, she refused to let him know. Despite her rejections, he took it in stride, not once breaking their rhythm on the ballroom floor. He looked disappointed each time though, yet was quick to flash her a warm smile not too long after, proving that he wasn’t truly displeased with her.

And now it was the third night. As usual, Chat Noir remained her only dancing partner during the entirety of the ball. At one point, when Marinette wished to take a break and rest her feet, another man in attendance came up to her and asked for a dance, commenting that now her partner was away he was able to approach her and couldn’t miss the opportunity.

For a moment she considered the offer. She had danced with Chat Noir for three nights; here was an opportunity for a change. He was handsome and had a kind smile, why not dance with him?

But he wore no cat ears. He didn’t have messily perfect blond hair, nor did he have green eyes that sparkled with mischievous intentions. He didn’t even tell her a bad pun.

With that in mind she politely refused him, saying that she was already spoken for and had no wishes to leave her partner. His shoulders had slumped, and he frowned, but luckily that was the extent of his disappointment that he showed.

Chat Noir showed up not long after. He admitted that he saw the whole encounter but didn’t want to interfere in case she was tired of his company.

His eyes were downcast then. He looked so remorseful that it caused Marinette to feel guilty, even though she refused the gentleman in favor of Chat!

She was quick to assure him then the only man she was interested in dancing with was him.

He smiled delightedly at that, then asked if her feet were rested enough so that she could stand again. Truthfully, the soles of her feet were still sore, but she couldn’t say no to the happy, excited look he bore in that moment. So, with a wince she expertly hid, she stood up and took his offered hand.

Now, the hour was nearly midnight. The ball was set to end in an hour, and so far, Prince Adrien never made his appearance to choose a bride. He was expected to attend all three balls, yet Marinette hadn’t seen him once. Not even a glimpse of him.

So much for picking his future wife and subsequently his future queen. Idly she wondered why the young prince didn’t make any appearances, but immediately pegged it for simply not being interested in parties. However, how was he meant to pick a girl to marry if he never bothered to look at any of the women there?

Marinette pushed the thoughts aside as she found herself gazing into Chat Noir’s entrancing evergreen eyes again. Lately, her heart had taken to beating faster whenever he smiled at her, and it positively jumped whenever he held her close for their dances. Why, she even _giggled_ at the last, admittedly, atrocious pun he made.

Dare she say it, she may just be falling for this mysterious man in cat ears.

“So, princess,” he spoke, his voice low and a roguish grin curling his lips.

That’s right; recently he had taken to calling her ‘princess’, or sometimes ‘my lady’, despite her assurance of not being of either title.

“It’s the last night of this grand ball. May I at last have the pleasure of knowing your name?”

She liked Chat Noir. She did! So why was she reluctant on admitting the truth?

“Uh,” she stammered nervously, looking away from his eyes. She found it immensely difficult, given the way they always seemed to lure and capture her gaze. “I don’t-”

“You still refuse to give it to me,” he concluded with a chuckle, twirling her around as he did so. She easily spun back into his arms to listen to his next words. “You don’t have to be embarrassed, I’m sure it’s a lovely name befitting your beauty.”

Ugh, why did he have to know the right words to induce a blush?

She shook her head.

“That’s not it, I just…I-”

When she trailed off, leaving her sentence unfinished, he opted to continue speaking.

“Since you won’t tell me your name, maybe I can guess?”

Marinette’s eyes widened, until she laughed at the absurdity of the proposal. There was absolutely no way he could guess it; there were hundreds of names to choose from!

“Alright,” she said, after a few more giggles. “Go ahead, Chat. See if you can guess my name.”

He grinned, a cunning gleam shining in his eyes. For a moment, she worried that she made the wrong decision. But as she told herself before, there was no possible way he could correctly guess her name. She was getting nervous for nothing.

“ _Purr_ fect,” he commented, before adopting a pondering expression. “Hmm…is it Léna?”

She shook her head with a self-assured grin.

“I’m afraid not, chaton.”

He pursed his lips.

“How about…Charlotte?”

Once again she shook her head in the negative in utter glee. He was never going to get it!

Then suddenly he leaned in closer, his contemplating appearance gone and replaced with a purely wicked smirk, looking very much like the cat that got the cream. For the first time since this game started, she grew uneasy.

“Could it be... _Marinette_?”

She froze in his arms, her feet stopping in their steps. Her mouth parted to draw in a gasp.

How did he-how could he have possibly-?!

“I see you’re surprised,” he observed with a snicker. “Worry not, my lady. To make up for it, I’ll reveal my own name to you.” He pulled back the hand that was on her waist to place it by the edge of his mask. Without another moment to wait he removed it, causing a more horrified intake of air to rush down her throat.

“Adrien, at your service, princess,” he spoke with the same gallant smile he approached her with that first night as he dipped into a low bow, apparently having not noticed her frightened demeanor.

With shaky legs she took a step back.

Prince Adrien. This whole time, she had been dancing with the _prince_. And he chose her to dance with all of those nights, throughout all the hours the parties lasted until the guests had to go home. He only gave his attentions to _her_.

Which could only mean…

Marinette turned tail and fled, hiking up her dress’s skirts and running as fast as she could in her heels. She heard Chat’s-Prince Adrien’s!-voice shout and plead with her to stop, yet she completely ignored the call, pushing her way through the bewildered guests as she mentally commanded her legs to somehow move faster.

This was never a good idea! If she had only stayed home, she wouldn’t be in this trouble now!

When she made it to the doors it was then that she heard the distinct sound of running footsteps. Not relinquishing on her speed, she spun her head around and could see Prince Adrien gaining on her, his eyes wide and his hand stretched out.

“Wait! Please!”

But she couldn’t wait. She had to think about this, of how she was tricked and how she was dancing with Prince Adrien this whole time and how he told those ridiculous cat puns and how he had flirted with her and how he had called her-

She almost stopped dead in her tracks at the new realization that hit her. Thank goodness she didn’t, else Adrien would’ve surely caught her then.

He called her _princess_. He intended on marrying her by the second night of the ball! It was a clue, a hint to his real identity and she completely missed it.

Her breath leaving her in heaving pants, beads of sweat rolling down her forehead and the back of her neck, she pushed herself until she was bursting forth into the surrounding woods of the castle. Her gown snagged on a few tree roots, but that could be mourned about later. For now, she had a prince to escape from.

Marinette dove behind a tree. Making sure she was well-hidden in the dark, she poked her head out from behind it and looked back towards the palace grounds.

She saw Adrien rush outside, before stopping and wildly turning his head this way and that, obviously trying to determine where she went. A few seconds later a darker-skinned young man ran up to him, placing a hand on his shoulder and visibly dragging in heaving gulps of air.

At last she heard Adrien let out a frustrated shout. His hands grabbed fistfuls of that golden hair she had longed to touch in order to see if it was as soft as she imagined it to be. His current state made her frown; she didn’t like seeing him so upset. She wanted to see him smile.

He probably would if she stepped out of her hiding place, but that wasn’t going to happen.

Adrien shook his head and began growling out something unintelligible. Her eyes squinted, trying to read the words on his lips. But she wasn’t very good at it, and so she was only able to detect what appeared to be, _I messed up_ and _she’s gone._

The man, his friend she guessed, patted his shoulder in comfort and mumbled more words that she couldn’t hear. Eventually Adrien nodded, relinquished his hold on his hair, and calmly stood while forlornly staring into the forest, coincidentally where she was hiding.

Her breath stilled. For a moment, she thought that he caught her, but she relaxed when she noticed how his eyes didn’t brighten in recognition nor did he yell in disbelief and excitement that he had found her.

A few tense seconds later, the pair of apparent friends turned around and made their way back into the palace. Marinette hated that Adrien looked so heartbroken, but there was no way that she could reveal herself. She thought she was dancing with a regular man, not a prince! All she wanted was to have some fun, she hardly expected a royal suitor out of it.

When at last the only thing heard were the crickets chirping and the noise of all the other little nighttime animals, Marinette started the trek back to her home.

…

When she returned, her parents were alarmed at her ragged appearance and demanded to know what had happened to warrant such a state of being. Marinette merely shrugged and sheepishly told them she tripped. Luckily, they believed her, knowing their daughter could be clumsy at the most random and inopportune of times.

She hated lying, but it wasn’t like she could tell them the truth of what had really happened.

Unfortunately, it seemed her lie was about to be exposed. For the next day, Marinette happened to look outside her bedroom window in the afternoon and noticed what was unmistakably the royal carriage gradually making its way down the dirt road and right toward her family’s bakery.

Her throat tightened in fear. Her hands gripped at her day dress to keep her nerves at bay.

_Please pass by, please pass by…_

Alas, it didn’t. It stopped right in front of the bakery. Villagers doing their food shopping paused to stare, eager to catch a glimpse of either the king or the prince. The door opened and Marinette mentally prayed that it was the king perhaps dropping by to purchase some pastries, even though her hope was foolish and was very unlikely to happen, given that he had servants to do that job.

Her fleeting hopes ultimately died when she noticed a very familiar head of thick, sunshine hair pop out of the carriage door, followed by his torso. When he was completely outside he happened to glance up, exactly to where her window was. She quickly ducked down with a startled squeak, hoping and pleading with any higher deity out there that he didn’t see her and would just turn around and leave.

He knew where she lived. He knew her name and where she lived. This wasn’t good. This wasn’t good at all.

Against her will, a part of her swooned that he was likely here to try to woo and persuade her into accepting him as her husband.

But the other part, the larger, more pronounced and often obeyed part, panicked at the idea of being a princess. Marinette’s teeth clenched as she let out a nervous squeal, her hands on either side of her head as she began to rapidly hop in place on her toes.

She had to get away; she had to leave right now!

She stood motionless when a knock was heard on her trapdoor. Her breath caught, thinking it was Prince Adrien.

“Marinette? Sweetie, the prince is here to see you!”

She relaxed at her mother’s voice, but it wasn’t long after that she began to panic again.

“Tell him…”

She wracked her brain for an excuse, one that would surely make him go away.

“Tell him I died!”

“Marinette?!” Sabine questioned, apparently having been appalled by her answer. “What’s the matter? May I come in?”

“No! I’m dead, remember?!”

“Marinette…” The warning tone was all she got before the hatch opened. Sabine peered inside the room, immediately taking notice of her daughter’s flushed cheeks and her less-than-composed state.

“Sweetheart, why on Earth do you want me to tell Prince Adrien that you died? He isn’t angry, so I highly doubt that you’re in any trouble with the royal family. You have no need to pretend that you’re not here. Although, I wonder why he’s here in the first place…”

“He wants to marry me, Maman!” Marinette groaned, burying her face in her hands and collapsing on her chaise.

To her disappointment, her mother gasped excitedly, hurriedly closing the trapdoor behind her and rushing to her daughter’s side.

“He wants to marry you?! How do you know? Wait, is this about the royal balls for the past three nights? Did he propose? What happened?”

“Maman,” Marinette interrupted tiredly.

“Sorry, sorry,” Sabine apologized, although the wide smile she bore didn’t shrink at all. “But tell me how you know he wants to marry you!”

Her daughter sighed, lowering her hands from her face to stare at the ceiling.

“Remember how the intention of the balls was to ensure that Prince Adrien would find a wife?”

Her mother nodded, attentive to every word that left her lips.

“All three ended up being masquerade-themed. No one knew who the other was. The first night I met a man who called himself “Chat Noir”. We ended up dancing together for the rest of the night and for the next two. I thought he was just a regular, ordinary suitor, but that proved not to be the case when he revealed himself to me as the prince. I ran away, in the forest where I knew he couldn’t find me. After that I went home, and now he’s here.”

She turned to her mother, anxiety evident in her eyes.

“He only danced with _me_ for those three nights, I know he wants to marry me. But I can’t, Maman! I can’t do it.”

Sabine blinked, her excited smile falling as she noticed the tears in Marinette’s eyes. Immediately she wrapped her daughter in a hug meant to bring solace.

“Why can’t you do it, sweetie?” she wondered in her gentle tone. “Do you dislike him?”

“That’s the thing! I don’t dislike him at all. I love him, actually.” Marinette could feel the heat rising to her cheeks as she finally admitted the fact aloud. “But I can’t marry him.”

“Why ever not?” she asked whilst rubbing small, soothing circles along Marinette’s back. “Going by what you said and how he’s here, I would say that he loves you too. What else is holding you back from accepting him?”

“Because I can’t be a princess,” she whispered brokenly, a tear sliding down her cheek. “I’m just a village girl, I was going to take over the bakery and make clothes on the side.” She shook her head, burying her face into her mother’s shoulder. “I’d only disappoint him.”

“Darling,” Sabine called softly, detaching herself from the hug to look in her daughter’s teary eyes. With a small smile, she wiped her thumbs against a few tears that had escaped.

“First off, I want you to know that I, nor your father, will ever pressure you into a marriage, no matter who the suitor is. I want you to know that whoever you choose, or don’t choose, will not matter with us. We will love you unconditionally no matter what, do you understand?”

Marinette silently nodded, although she had to sniffle once.

“Good,” her mother praised. “Furthermore, you can never be a disappointment. And if Prince Adrien can ever believe that you are, then he is not a worthy husband. I can’t make a judgement of him, since I don’t know him as personally as you have become to know him. So, this is a question only you can answer: do you really believe that he is the kind of man to ever think you could be a disappointment?”

Marinette hung her head. Deep down, she knew the truth. There was no way that the kind, intelligent, funny young man she had danced with the previous nights could be so cruel.

“No.”

“I and your father always wanted what was best for you, Marinette. And if you don’t believe that Prince Adrien is the best, we will not be angry at you for your decision. We will still love you no matter if you choose to accept or reject him. Speaking of, if he really is here to propose, I think you should at least see him. Don’t you?”

Marinette nodded before picking up her head to meet her mother’s eyes again.

“But, Maman, what about being a princess? I don’t think I can handle it, I don’t-“

“I believe that topic should be discussed with Prince Adrien, since he knows what being a royal entails. Besides,” she added, her eyes twinkling in mirth. “I really don’t think he would be here if he didn’t think you were capable of the position. Now, shall I go get him so that you two may talk?”

Marinette silently nodded her permission, unable to say any words. Her heart felt like it was clenching in fear, with new worries over what Adrien would say to her as her mother quietly left the room but not without throwing one more, what was meant to be, soothing smile in her direction.

What if he was here not to propose at all, but instead he was here to berate her for running out on him last night? She could only imagine the embarrassment she must’ve caused him, by not only running away from him, but leading him to hurriedly follow after her as well. What if she got him into trouble with his father? Because as far as she knew, princes didn’t go around chasing maidens at parties.

Her thoughts were scattered by a soft, almost timid sounding, knock on her trapdoor.

“Marinette? It’s me-er, it’s Adrien. May I come in?”

She breathed in deeply, letting it out in one whoosh of air as she stood from her seat to open the hatch.

_Stay calm, Marinette. You can do this. It’s only Chat Noir…who also happens to be a prince._

She shook her head, dispelling more distressing thoughts and opened the door.

For a moment the pair just stared at each other, Adrien’s eyes reflecting relief and warmth while hers shone with anxiety and awe. Although, she couldn’t help but notice how strange he looked, with him perched on her ladder in his royal garb. The image, a person holding onto a ladder, was supposed to be ordinary, yet it wasn’t for him, all the same. She surmised that it had to do with his status.

“May I come in?” he murmured, effectively breaking the trance.

Marinette flinched, a bit startled from the sudden interruption.

“Y-Yes. Of course, Your Highness.”

Adrien pursed his lips as he took the few extra steps needed to get inside the small room. Marinette stood back, awkwardly fiddling her fingers together and refusing to glance his way.

“You don’t have to call me that, you know,” he informed her, disappointment lacing his tone. “You can call me by my name.” His frown lifted into a half-smile, and he scoffed with a bit of humor. “I’ll also take ‘chaton’, or ‘minou’.”

Instead of relieving the tension in the room like he intended, what he got was Marinette turning away from him, groaning loudly whilst covering her forehead with her hand in embarrassment.

“I’m so sorry, I had no idea you were the prince. I wouldn’t have called you those silly names if I had known.”

Adrien smiled reassuringly, daring to take a step closer to her. To his comfort, she didn’t match his step by backing away.

“It’s alright. I liked them, and they most certainly were not ‘silly’. It felt nice being called something other than ‘Your Highness’ or ‘ _Prince_ Adrien’. I never had a term of endearment before.”

Marinette, cheeks thoroughly pink, snapped her head up with widened eyes to look at him, the word ‘endearment’ triggering the action. She tried to gauge his emotion, and couldn’t detect any hints of annoyance, something that a royal should’ve been when not referred to by their proper title.

“Marinette,” he started, suddenly serious.

His tone made her blink, new worries working their way into her mind in anticipation for what he was going to say.

“Do you hate me?” he whispered, his voice on the verge of breaking. There was so much hope and despair in his voice, all at once, immediately invoking guilt in Marinette’s heart.

“Hate you?” she echoed, turning towards him fully. “How could you think I hate you?”

“Well, besides the fact that you ran away from me at the ball like the devil was on your heels, there’s also how you look like you wish to be anywhere but here.” He rubbed the back of his neck with his hand, something Marinette guessed to be a nervous habit of his. And here she thought princes were always poised and flawless, not having something so _common_ as a nervous habit.

“I didn’t run away because I hate you,” she mumbled, moving to sit on her chaise, her arms drawing closer to her body in a subconscious effort to shield herself from Adrien’s penetrating, yet dulled green eyes.

He copied her steps, sitting down next to her. She didn’t flinch or scoot away, having been anticipating his response.

“Then why did you run?” he inquired softly, earnestly. “You were enjoying yourself when I was ‘Chat Noir’. Then you were downright terrified when I revealed who I really was.”

“I’m sorry,” she apologized, not able to bring herself to look at him in her shame. “It’s just…well, it was a shock. I mean, I never expected Chat Noir to be the prince.”

“I do admit I should’ve done the reveal differently,” he spoke, glancing to his left. “With us alone and me not flirting and teasing you about it. I guess I got caught up in the moment, with it being the last night. It just, I don’t know, seemed like the perfect time to tell you the truth.” He scoffed out a sardonic laugh. “I guess it wasn’t.”

Marinette frowned, returning her inquisitive gaze to him. Adrien, having sensed it, did the same.

“Why did you disguise yourself in the first place? Why not just attend the ball as yourself?”

He sighed, bracing himself for a long story ahead.

“As you know, my father organized a grand ball that would take place for three nights in a row. And during the span of those nights, I was to find a bride. I thought it was absurd; how was I supposed to fall in love and pick a woman to marry within three nights? But there is no disagreeing with my father, and so I was resigned to my fate. Although, I was able to convince him to make it a masque, and that I could go with no one knowing it was me.

“I knew first and foremost that I wanted a girl to love me for myself, not for my title or wealth. So, I figured that my best chance to make sure of that happening, if it could, would be to go as someone else. Thus, “Chat Noir” was born.

“Being in disguise also allowed me to see the guests’ true nature. Most of the women boasted of how they were going to flatter and charm the unsuspecting prince and then become the richest queen this kingdom has ever had.”

He scowled, his words turning harshly bitter towards the end. Marinette didn’t blame him; she would be upset too if people were trying to use her like that. It was something she never wanted to experience.

“I was starting to feel hopeless,” Adrien continued. “’ _How am I to choose a wife among these greedy, deceitful women?’_ I started to sort out the lesser of the evils between them. Such as, “this one said she wanted diamonds. That is manageable, while this one swore that she would accept nothing less than rubies.” Since these women were my only choices, I was going to pick the least greedy of them all. But just as I resigned myself to that fate, that’s when I saw you.”

Marinette fidgeted in her seat, a rush of heat illuminating her cheeks since she knew where this story was likely going to go.

Adrien grinned, a tad bashful.

“I’ll admit, the first thing that attracted me to you was your beauty. I’ve never seen eyes that so perfectly resembled the sky on a summer afternoon. Or how your hair so closely resembled the night. You were alone, not speaking to anyone, so I couldn’t tell if you were like those other women. I decided to try my luck anyway, and I’m glad that I did.”

Slowly, he inched his hand closer to hers. His fingers brushed against her own, causing her back to straighten. Adrien shifted his eyes from the girl he was trying to marry, to her lone hand that remained unmoved. Taking his chances, he covered her hand with his.

A corner of his mouth quirked up, pleased of how she didn’t take her hand away.

“During that dance I was starting to fall for your personality as well. You were teasing yet kind, clever, and sweet. I wanted to know more about you, and so I asked you for another dance. Then another, and another, and another until before I knew it, we were dancing for the whole night. I was captured by you, with no hope of ever escaping. Not that I wanted to,” he added, to which she just bit into her lower lip harder and curled the hand that was under Adrien’s into a tight fist.

Marinette knew this sort of confession was coming. She had been anticipating it and thought she could remain stoic enough throughout it. Alas, she had been proven wrong. She hated that he could reduce her to a tense, blushing mess with only a few sweet words.

“The second night came and I already knew I wanted to marry you. I honestly could scarcely believe that my father’s plan had worked, although I didn’t dare admit that to him,” he said cheekily, a playful spark in his eyes. “I wanted to know your name so badly, I had to know who I fell in love with. Yet you refuted my pleas each time. At the end of the night…er-you’re not going to like this part…”

That made her turn to him again, only this time her eyes were narrowed with suspicion, all traces of shyness and embarrassment gone.

“What part?” she questioned, a warning in her tone.

His lips thinned into a nervous line, unable to meet her skeptical look.

“I may have had my friend follow you home to see where you lived so I could get a name…”

“You _what_?!” she screeched angrily, standing from the chaise to stare him down. Adrien chose to look at her feet instead of her flaming blue eyes aimed on him. If it were possible, he would’ve been burned to a crisp in that very moment.

“You had someone follow me home?!” she exclaimed in disbelief and anger. “How could you do that? You cheated to find out who I was!”


	4. Cinderella AU 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love the story of Cinderella, and thought of a few different ideas to go about adapting it to Miraculous Ladybug. Here's another of my attempts at it ;)

“A ball? For Adrien to find a bride?” Chloe read aloud, scoffing.

She waved the royal parchment around in dismissal. The sudden motion caused the hem of her gown to fly from the seamstress’ fingertips, to which said seamstress scowled at but otherwise didn’t let her brief irritation be known.

“If that’s the case, why didn’t he just come here and propose instead of bothering with a ball? Unless…of course! He knows I wouldn’t want some _ordinary_ proposal, like any common peasant. Oh, my Adrikins knows me so well!”

Marinette might have laughed, had not the pins in her mouth prevented her from doing it. For this she was thankful, else Chloe might have forced her to go without supper for the night. She wasn’t above such petty punishments.

“This will be the grandest proposal this kingdom has ever beheld!” Lady Chloe went on, oblivious to her seamstress’s amusement. “Don’t you agree?”

Marinette simply nodded her head. She had learned long ago not to disagree with Chloe, no matter how outlandish her words may be.

For you see, Chloe claimed to be close friends with the prince, even going so far as to call him ‘Adrikins’. Yet Marinette had never seen them together. He never visited her home, and when she went to the palace it was mostly for small dinner parties. Yet they have been acquainted since they were children, so she surmised that this must be enough for Chloe to argue that she and Prince Adrien were the best of friends.

Where she got the idea that they were destined to be married, Marinette had no idea.

She heard Prince Adrien was a sensible man, so she hoped he had enough sense not to marry Chloe. Because the idea of there being a Queen Chloe Bourgeois…well, it was enough to make anyone shudder in the House of the Marquis and Marquise Bourgeois.

“I need a gown!” Chloe cried out, jarring Marinette out of a nightmare world ruled by Queen Chloe. For once, she was glad to hear her voice.

Until what she said next.

“Yes, a new gown by tomorrow night!” She stepped off the stool, leading Marinette to squeak in surprise. A long string of yellow thread trailed behind Chloe as she went to her closet to inspect the contents, but she only looked for a few seconds before she deemed all the dresses unworthy with a scoff of disgust.

“Yes, I’ll be needing a brand-new gown. It’ll have to be of the finest material and fashion since he could propose at any moment. It’ll have ribbons, lace, bows, and-Marinette, why aren’t you writing this down?!”

Marinette removed the pins from her mouth, staring up at Chloe with wide eyes.

“My lady, it is simply impossible for me alone to design and create an entire new ball gown by tomorrow night. There’s simply no-”

“But nothing is impossible for _you_ , my best seamstress,” Chloe sneered, in a sickening-sugary tone that caused Marinette’s stomach to churn. “I know you can do it, and you _will_. Otherwise, I’ll just have my father throw you out on the streets and find me a seamstress who _can_ do the job. Plenty of people can sew. We certainly won’t lose anything by firing you.”

Marinette’s eyes narrowed. Leave it to Lady Chloe to stoop so low as to threaten to throw her out to get what she wanted. Sure, the Bourgeois wouldn’t have anything to lose, but for Marinette she had _everything_ to lose. With her parents dead and no other relations, she was on her own.

This House was her home. She’d be living on the streets with nothing but the clothes on her back if the Bourgeois turned her out.

Somehow, she would just have to make the gown by the next night. If she had to lose some sleep over the job, then so be it.

She bowed her head. “Yes, my lady. It shall be done.”

Chloe smirked, having already predicted this outcome. After all, no one has ever said ‘no’ to her.

“Good, now get busy,” she ordered, motioning for the seamstress to leave the room. Marinette got the hint and gathered up her supplies before walking to the door.

“Oh, and one more thing!”

Marinette’s hand paused above the doorknob.

“I want this gown to be your absolute best work. No distractions. Because if Adrien doesn’t propose to me because of a shoddy dress, not only will you be out in the streets, but your little maid friend and her family will be too. Remember that when working.”

Marinette bit her lip. Not only was her fate on the line, but now Alya’s was too.

No pressure.

“I shall endeavor to provide, my lady.”

****

“A ball gown by tomorrow night?!” Alya cried out. She dusted the priceless Bourgeois heirloom vase with more force than necessary. The feather duster seemed to vibrate with the same fury that her wielder was feeling. “No one can do that, not even you. It’s impossible!”

“Well then I’ll have to make it possible,” Marinette calmly replied, grabbing her basket. She counted the coins in her hand a final time before placing them in her apron pocket.

“Why didn’t you just tell her you couldn’t do it? I know it’s Chloe, but even she must understand that there is no way you can do this order. Nobody can!” she continued, finishing the vase and placing her hands on her hips. She levelled her best friend with her infamous ‘no-nonsense’ glare. “You’ll work yourself to death if you try to do this.”

Marinette sighed as she patted her hair down in front of a nearby mirror. They were commonplace throughout the house for the vain Bourgeois family.

She wished she could tell Alya why she couldn’t refuse this order. But knowing Alya, she would likely do something drastic that would cause them all to get cast out anyway.

“Then I’ll have to take that chance,” she said, picking up her basket from the floor and placing it in the crook of her elbow. She turned around and frowned upon seeing her friend’s less-than-pleased expression.

“I’m serious, Marinette. This is too much work for you to handle. Besides, if you kill yourself trying to make this gown so soon, you won’t be able to make your own gown and go to the ball yourself!”

Huh?

Marinette’s eyebrows knitted together in confusion. “I can’t go…I’m a peasant, remember?”

Royal balls were for the nobility and royalty, not peasants. What was she talking about?

Alya grinned, the same one she would adopt when she knew something that no one else did. Usually a person who wanted to know such details would have to pay her, but since Marinette was Alya’s best friend, she got all the juicy gossip and current events going on in the House and village for free.

“I’m not surprised that Chloe didn’t tell you. The ball held at the palace is open for everyone, commoners included. If you have something suitable to wear, you’re in. Apparently, the king is so desperate for his son to get married that he’s even willing to let him marry a peasant. So, if you don’t go, then you won’t have a chance at being our future queen!”

Marinette laughed; she couldn’t help it! As if Prince Adrien would ever pick her over a graceful, high-class, well-bred lady. Even if she did get to go to the ball, her modest gown would surely be outshined by all the others. All the nice materials went towards Lady Chloe’s dresses, Marinette wasn’t even allowed to have the scraps. She would ultimately pale in comparison to the other women there.

“What’s so funny? It could happen!” Alya argued, crossing her arms.

“Are you serious?” Marinette asked, her laughter dying down. “Even if I did go, Prince Adrien would immediately know that I’m no Lady. He’s a Prince; do you really think that his pride would allow him to choose a commoner? Besides, I think Chloe would kill me if I even breathed in his direction. You know she’s set on marrying him.”

“Don’t remind me,” Alya groaned, rolling her eyes. “God help us all if he marries Chloe. Which he won’t, by the way. I heard Prince Adrien’s not a bad guy. I think if he liked a peasant enough, he would marry them.”

“Still, what are the odds that he chooses me out of the other hundred girls there?” She shook her head. “Besides, I barely have enough time the way it is to make this gown, and that’s without adding a party to the mix, so there’s no use in discussing ‘what if’s’. Now, I really must get going. I want to get a head start on this and I haven’t even bought the supplies yet.”

Alya sighed. “All you ever do is sew. I just want you to go have fun for once.”

Marinette smiled, though it was dim compared to her usual ones.

“I will, when all my work is done.”

Alya frowned, watching her best friend, the one who deserved to have one night of fun more than anyone, walk out the door.

“That’s the problem. With people like Chloe around, your work will never be done.”

….

It was moments like these, out in the fresh air and away from the shrill calls of her name, that Marinette could relax. Granted, she wasn’t merely out for a stroll and did have work to do, but for now she could breathe easier.

Just a little bit.

While weaving between the shoppers of their humble village, from mothers buying food, to children running around, men at work, and young ladies browsing various pieces of jewelry, Marinette tried to envision a gown in her head. One that would grand enough to please Chloe’s standards while remaining fashionable.

Because the gown that she described before dismissing Marinette…

Well, despite the beautiful spring day, Marinette felt a chill run down her spine.

The dress had to be perfect, her best work, else her family and Alya’s would be out in the streets.

But she could do it. She was already beginning to envision the work in her head. It would be exquisite, one that would bring about the envy of all the women in attendance and the attention of every man.

Well, hopefully every man except Prince Adrien. Her fear of a Queen Chloe didn’t completely diminish yet.

Now then, let’s see….of course the gown would be yellow. It was Chloe’s signature color and she was hardly seen without wearing it. The fabric would obviously be silk, nothing less than the finest would do. There would be some lace on the sleeves there, ooh and a black ribbon going around the skirt, ending off in large bows and-

A loud, distressed whinny from a horse snatched Marinette away from her thoughts.

There, out in the street in front of her, stood an old man hunched over and clutching a wooden cane. He was trembling, arm raised in the air in a feeble attempt to defend himself from the screeching gray horse as it rose to its hind legs.

The owner of the horse shouted from his seat in the wagon over the throng of gasping people, trying to get his panicked horse under control but with little success. If no one else intervened, the old man would likely die from being stomped upon by the horse.

Marinette felt her feet carry her before she realized what she was doing.

She looped her arm around the old man’s waist. With a grunt, she pulled him to safety just in time to avoid the horse’s hooves. Instead it stomped into a mud puddle, and by some miracle, the small splash that ensued avoided Marinette and the old man. 

“I’m so sorry!” The owner cried out. Luckily, the horse seemed to calm down after their brush of danger. With a snap of the reins, the owner ordered his horse to ride on. It made a noise of protest, but followed the order.

The people didn’t stop to make sure the old man was alright either. He was visibly fine, and with the excitement over, they continued with their daily lives as if nothing had happened.

Meanwhile, the old man stood, hunched over and gripping his cane tightly. Marinette frowned and gently placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Are you alright, sir?”

“Yes, quite so,” he replied. He looked up and gave a withered smile, his gray mustache stretching with the action.

“Thank you, young lady. I fear what would’ve happened had you not intervened.”

“How could I not?” she replied, a little surprised and just a bit offended. “I couldn’t just stand by and watch.” _Not like those other people._ “I believe if it’s within your power to help someone, you should.”

The old man regarded her then, as if seeing her for the first time, an odd glimmer in his eyes.

“Yes,” he finally spoke. “I agree. But I would still like to repay you for what you’ve done. Would you please join me for a cup of tea?”

Marinette bit her lip. She would feel bad about refusing his generosity, but she absolutely must get started on Chloe’s gown as soon as possible if she wanted a chance to finish it by tomorrow night. She didn’t get to buy the supplies yet!

“Thank you, sir. I would, but I need to buy some supplies for my lady. I can’t afford to lose another moment.”

“Supplies?” he repeated. “May I ask what they’re for?”

“A new ball gown,” she replied, her voice sounding tired even to her own ears. “I must complete it by tomorrow night.”

“Tomorrow night,” he mused, reaching up with a hand to stroke his small beard. “That’s a tall order for one person. But I can help you regarding the supplies. My wife owns a dress store you see, with all kinds of gowns and fabrics. We can go there and enjoy a cup of tea after you’ve done your shopping.”

Without waiting for an answer, the old man turned and began walking down the road. But what caused Marinette’s mouth to drop, was how the cane he previously gripped like a lifeline was now casually held between his fingers behind his back.

She probably shouldn’t have stared after him for so long, frozen in place. Maybe then she would’ve seen the oncoming splash of mud.

As Marinette miserably inspected the brown splotches all over her previously white apron, she heard a _very_ familiar cackle.

“See, Adrikins? This is why peasants shouldn’t go to the ball. They’re so dirty!” Chloe crowed, pointing a finger outside the passing carriage window.

Another head popped into view, following Chloe’s finger until his eyes rested on the seamstress.

Marinette forced herself to stand straighter under the scrutiny. Adrikins, huh? So, this was the kind, sensible Prince Adrien?

She expected this kind of behavior from Chloe, but she knew that Chloe was in the minority. Very few people were as cruel as her. And while her companion didn’t laugh at her muddy state, he didn’t do anything to rectify the situation either.

He just sat there and watched, just like the people who were content to watch an old man possibly die.

It was a shame, too. He was rather handsome, with his thick, blond hair and bright green eyes. He should’ve had a good personality to match. Although, even if he did say something, it wouldn’t have mattered. If he freely spent time with Chloe, then he had to be just like her.

Before they got too far away, Marinette could hear Chloe’s shrill tittering resume. But the man didn’t pay attention, for he continued to look back at Marinette.

She raised her chin and met his stare until they disappeared from view.

…

“M-Marianne’s?!” Marinette gasped upon setting foot in the lavish boutique. All around her were the gowns and fabric patterns of the latest high-end fashion. It was all very beautiful, and outrageously expensive, which is why it was Chloe’s choice for a dress shop.

Marinette was more than familiar with the store. Always buying but never being able to keep anything. “Your wife is Marianne?”

“I am,” a tall, older woman with gray hair pulled up in a bun confirmed. She smiled sweetly. “Good afternoon, Marinette. I see you’ve finally met my wayward husband.”

“I am not wayward, I just like to go for walks,” the old man retorted, grinning. “And I see you two know each other? What a small world.”

“Indeed,” Marinette muttered, still in shock.

“I have the tea in the back, feel free to shop for your supplies while I make it,” the old man said to Marinette before walking to his wife and reaching up to kiss her on the cheek as she slightly bent down. Marianne blushed as she watched her husband retreat into the back room.

Marinette couldn’t help but smile. She hoped that one day she could have a love that strong, even in old age.

“Now then,” Marianne started, turning back to the seamstress. Her eyes slid down the girl’s dress—although with all the patchwork done to it, ‘rags’ would be more accurate to describe her attire—widening as she saw the brown splatters. “What happened? Are you alright?”

Marinette followed her gaze, sighing as she recalled what had just happened.

“Yes, I’m fine. Just got some mud on my dress, no big deal.”

“Are you sure? I could give you another one.”

Marinette shook her head. “Thank you, but you know I can’t. Chloe would wonder where I got a new dress and she’d be mad that the material wasn’t used for one of her own.”

“That Chloe Bourgeois,” Marianne grumbled. “Such a selfish, spoiled girl.”

“A selfish, spoiled girl that’s a loyal customer,” Marinette teased, walking over to the bolt of yellow silk she saw on the way in and inspected it.

Marianne sighed. “True. But that doesn’t mean I have to like her.”

“Also true,” Marinette said, rolling out some silk and feeling it between her fingers.

“Speaking of Chloe, I assume you’re here because she wants yet another new dress?”

Marinette nodded. “Yes. A new gown for tomorrow night’s ball.”

The older woman gasped, her hand flying to her heart. “No! Surely she doesn’t expect you to make a gown by tomorrow night. All by yourself?”

Marinette placed the bolt of silk in the crook of her arm. She turned to Marianne, and the shop owner could practically see the stress weighing down on the poor girl’s shoulders.

“Yes. All by myself.”

“That’s insane! I have no idea how you’ll be able to finish that on time.”

Marinette grinned in self-deprecation. “Me either. But I’ll find a way.”

Marianne shook her head. “If that girl didn’t always want dresses and material from here, I’d ban her.”

“I wouldn’t let you ban her on my account,” Marinette said, picking up another bolt of silk in the same color as the first. “The Bourgeois would tell all the other noble families, and you know how highly everyone regards the Bourgeois. You’d be bankrupt in a month. So please, don’t do anything drastic for me. I appreciate the thought behind it, but I would never forgive myself if someone I cared about got hurt along the way.”

Marianne sighed and crossed her arms together. Marinette was much too kind for the position life had dealt her. Why did such a sweet, selfless girl have to be treated so poorly? She was destined for greater things. Marianne didn’t exactly know what those things entailed, but she knew that Marinette deserved them.

“Alright. But only because you asked me to,” she agreed and winked.

Marinette smiled, and together the two women went around the shop, gathering the supplies and talking of ideas for Chloe’s gown, until the old man appeared with a tray of three teacups filled with steaming liquid.

…

“So, how did you meet my husband?” Marianne asked.

Wang Fu, the old man whose name Marinette had finally learned, paused in his sip of tea.

Marinette placed her cup down, contemplating of what to tell her. She didn’t want to tell the truth, because then Marianne would be worried even though everything was fine and would likely be afraid whenever her husband went out for a walk. But she didn’t want to lie, either.

Perhaps a balance could be made.

“I…was on my way here when we bumped into each other.” Not a total lie. “I assisted him with a…temperamental horse.” Not a lie, at all.

“A temperamental horse…really?” Marianne mused, levelling a look on her husband with a raised eyebrow. “What a coincidence. Why, just yesterday the same thing happened but it was a young man that helped you. Funny how that works.”

Fu chuckled under the pointed look from his wife and the curious one from the seamstress.

“Yes, funny how that works,” he quietly repeated, taking a sip of tea.

Marianne rolled her eyes but smiled once she returned to attention to Marinette. She clasped her fingers together under her chin, regarding the young lady with a spark in her eyes.

“Now then, I’m guessing since you’ll be hard at work making Chloe’s gown, you already have one made for yourself?”

Marinette glanced down at her cup of tea. Her good mood slipped just the tiniest bit. She didn’t understand why; she knew that there was no way she’d be able to go, even without a new gown to make for Chloe. So why was she disappointed?

“No, I don’t. I’m not going to the ball.”

“Not going?!” Marianne repeated in shock. Her hands slamming down on the table loud enough to make the girl jump as the older woman menacingly loomed above her.

“But you must go! Every eligible maiden is to attend, be they noble or commoner. It’ll the ball of the century, everyone will be there. You can’t miss out on it. Besides,” Marianne grinned, “the prince will be there to choose a bride. What if he picks you?”

“I’ll admit, it does sound like it’ll be fun. But I can’t go. I can’t afford a gown or the supplies to make one for myself, and even if I did, all my time must be dedicated to making Chloe’s. Besides, the prince wouldn’t choose me, anyway. I’m just a commoner, after all. Don’t you think he’ll be more attracted to a lady of high standing?”

“Not likely,” Fu muttered lowly enough for Marinette not to hear.

However, his wife had, and she was quick to give him a warning glare. Fu withered under the look and took a long gulp of tea.

Marianne turned to Marinette again. “Still, you deserve to go and have a good time. A young lady like you needs a night of fun once in a while.” She winked. “I could give you one of my dresses, free of charge!”

Marinette swallowed, smiling apologetically and hoping what she would say next wouldn’t offend her. “I appreciate the offer, Madame, but I can’t accept it. You worked hard on those gowns; it wouldn’t be right to receive one without giving anything in return.”

“Nonsense! I insist you have one, you must-”

“Perhaps the young lady is right,” Fu murmured, setting his teacup down. He smiled at his wife, a secretive tilt to his lips that had Marianne ceasing her rant. “Besides, she’ll have to dedicate all her time in creating Chloe’s gown. There’ll be no time for that and to prepare herself for the ball.”

“But-!”

“And if the lady doesn’t want to go, she doesn’t have to. After all, maidens were invited, not ordered to attend. Maybe she doesn’t care about marrying the prince.”

Marinette’s lips twisted in a scowl. No, she didn’t care for marrying a man like Chloe _at all_.

“You’re right, I don’t, sir. Although, I will admit that seeing all the different gowns and all the finery probably would’ve given me great inspiration for my own designs. But thank you for understanding, sir. And thank you, Madame, I appreciate your kindness and generosity.”

“You’re welcome, dear,” she simply replied, and while she smiled, it was a little shaky and dare Marinette believe, worried? She glanced at her husband, who didn’t share her look and instead raised an eyebrow at Marinette.

“Is it safe to presume you dislike the prince?”

Marinette blinked. After all she said, he only focused on that?


	5. Robin Hood AU

“Do you love me?”

Lady Marinette paused. Did she love him? What an absurd question! They had only met once, when he had seized control of and subsequently robbed the cavalcade she was riding with. He then forced her to give up her late grandmother’s necklace, and tonight just two days later he sneaked into her bedchamber in the middle of the night to return it to her.

After an apology on his part, coupled with an explanation of how he only did it to keep up his ‘thieving outlaw’ image, followed by _why_ he was an outlaw in the first place, Marinette forgave and had (to his astonishment) agreed to help him however she could.

Because she recognized that he was exactly what the peasants needed: a selfless man to rob from the rich to give back to the poor. It felt wrong to praise such a criminal act, but she knew that it must be done to help curb the peasants’ suffering.

She may not be as close to Prince Andre as Lord Théodore was, but as the royal ward of King Armand D’Argencourt, she was privy to at least some of their plans.

As a result, she offered to give him all the information she’d hear pertaining to ideas of his capture, tax collections, cavalcades transporting said taxes, etc. She asked for nothing in return, only that he’d use the information wisely.

However, that didn’t mean she loved the man!

“No. I do not love you, Chat Noir.”

She had expected him to frown and shrink back in disappointment. Yet the cunning thief simply smirked.

“Well you must, since you’re helping an outlaw of your own free will.”

Lady Marinette gasped indignantly at that, turning with a fire in her eyes and a hot retort ready upon her tongue, but he had already vanished.

“Stupid cat.”

…

He came back three nights later.

Luckily she had some information waiting for him. In two days’ time, Lord Théo would gather a group of soldiers to guard a wealthy nobleman riding alone in the forest. Except, the nobleman would be merely a decoy, a lower-ranked soldier dressed in faux furs and glass jewels.

When Chat Noir and his band of merry little kittens would show up to rob the imposter, Lord Théo and his men would spring from the bushes and turn the tables on them. Thus, finally catching the bandit that’s been a stubborn thorn in his side for well over a month.

“Does he really think it would be that easy?” Chat Noir had laughed. “Does he think that _not one_ of my men would notice at least one fully-armored soldier hiding behind a bush?”

When he put it in that perspective, it admittedly caused her to giggle right along with him.

They talked for a while more afterward. He was surprisingly a good conversationalist. She told him of her goings-on in the castle, and he shared how it was like to live in the forest. From the way he spoke, it sounded a lot less bad than what she was picturing. Why, it even sounded a little fun!

But all good things must come to an end. And so, when he noticed her yawn, he stood and announced he would take his leave. Knowing it was for the better that he left, since every second he stayed was a second closer to being caught, she didn’t argue.

She had bid him a good night, when he responded with a question that earned him a raise of her eyebrows.

“Do you love me?”

She blinked, not angry like the last time he asked, but confused. She already said she didn’t. Was he naïve enough to think that after one conversation her answer would change?

“No. I don’t love you, Chat Noir.”

“Well you must, since you talked with me until dawn.”

What?!

Her eyes darted towards the window, and sure enough, she could see the beginnings of the sun’s rays peeking out from beyond the horizon. Were they really speaking for that long?

She didn’t get the chance to ask him, since he used her momentary distraction as a means to escape.

Smart cat.

…

Chat Noir visited yet again. Coincidentally (or not), it was on the night of Lord Théo’s failed scheme. From what she could discern from the enraged man’s yells earlier that afternoon, Chat Noir and his men had turned the tables on them by leaping from the trees and catching them completely by surprise. The bandits then proceeded to steal all their weapons and whatever else they held of value, before finally allowing the soldiers to escape with the haunting sound of their mocking laughter ringing in their ears.

It was something Marinette wished she could have seen with her own eyes. But when she asked if she could accompany Lord Théo on the little excursion, he said that the forest wasn’t a safe place for a lady anymore.

Marinette wisely kept silent on the contrary.

She could’ve asked him for more details of what happened, but she figured he’d probably be reluctant to tell her how Chat Noir sent him running with his tail between his legs. Alas, if she wanted the whole story in depth, she’d have to search elsewhere.

She chanced a look at the outlaw preening by her window. Based on his devious grin, he was willing to provide.

During the story, it was more than once that Marinette had to keep her laughter in check, lest she alert a guard or anyone else happening to be walking by. Not only was Chat Noir excellent at keeping up a conversation, he was also skilled in the art of storytelling. The way he exuberantly spoke of the events had her easily picturing it all in her head.

In fact, she could practically see the fear in Lord Théo’s eyes when Chat had pulled back his bowstring and lined an arrow with his nose. She hadn’t heard about that detail when Lord Théo had come back raving about the cunning thief.

“I see you take great joy in hearing about poor Théo’s troubles,” Chat later commented. He leaned back in the chair she had let him borrow, crossing his arms and observing her with a crooked grin on his lips. “Do you dislike him?”

Marinette frowned. She bit her lip, her hands that were once gently clasped in her lap now clenched tightly together as she fidgeted in her chair.

The thief noticed this, and his smile dropped. His eyebrows furrowed and he leaned towards her.

“Why?” was all he asked, her silence enough confirmation to his initial question.

She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. It’s petty compared to what you and the peasants are dealing with. Don’t worry about it.”

“That only tells me I should.”

His mood was growing darker by the second. He had never seen the cheerful, teasing lady like this. She looked so small and nervous, fearful even. And to know that Théo was the cause?

He should’ve released that arrow.

She shook her head again, bracing her shoulders and turning to him with steely eyes.

“You shouldn’t. It’s stupid and inconsequential. You have enough on your plate as it is without worrying about my problems.”

 _Problems_? As in ‘more than one’? His eyes narrowed, his patience running thin. “I can be the judge of what’s too much for my plate. Now tell me what he’s doing to you.”

Marinette sighed, pinching her nose between her fingers as the resolve from before began to crumble.

“You’re not going to let this go until I answer you, correct?”

“Correct.”

She glared at him to find his piercing stare unrelenting. Stupid cat.

“Fine,” she said, crossing her arms together. The action might have made her seem like a petulant toddler, but for now she didn’t care. “I don’t like him because he…looks at me funny.”

He narrowed his eyes. His mouth twisted, showing his determination and curiosity for the truth.

“Funny how?”

She groaned. How could she explain this?

“Funny like…like…I don’t know!” she exclaimed, her hands outstretched in her exasperation. “Sometimes he just stares at me and then this broad grin stretches across his face. He rarely takes his eyes off me when we’re in the same room and it makes me feel…uncomfortable.”

Uncomfortable was only putting it mildly, but she didn’t want to get into how she would feel tingles shoot down her spine and her stomach would get twisted in knots whenever those dark eyes were upon her.

“Then whenever he talks to me, he stands closer than what I would deem appropriate. He always gestures for me to take his arm wherever I go when he’s near, and whenever we converse, he never allows me an opportunity to escape. I want to tell him to stop, but he’s a lord and close to Prince Andre. I…I fear the consequences should I offend him.”

She peered down at her lap.

“I think he admires me,” she admitted lowly. “I worry he might declare his intentions to court me one day. With his standing, I can’t refuse him. I try not to get close, but he thwarts my attempts at every turn. If I try to avoid him, he won’t stop until he finds me. If I give him simple answers and attempt to talk with someone else, he’ll merely direct the conversation to a new topic and ignore my attempt altogether.”

She narrowed her eyes, anger and disgust, whether directed at herself or Théo, she wasn’t certain.

“I hate him, and there’s nothing I can do about it. So, you see, Chat Noir,” she paused and looked back at the thief. A bittersweet smile lifted the corners of her mouth. “That’s why I dislike him. But I suppose there are worse problems than a lord seeking to court a woman. I told you my problems were trivial compared to everyone else’s.”

Trivial? That’s how she saw it all? Petty and trivial? Not worth his concern?

Chat Noir’s jaw clenched. His gloved hands were pressed into tight, trembling fists. His mind was screaming at him to hunt down the pompous cad and shoot an arrow in his eye, then perhaps slit his throat for good measure.

How dare he cause Marinette to turn cautious and fearful in her own home? How dare he ignore her obvious efforts to dismiss him? To blatantly ignore her wishes and keep her pinned to his side? And when he wasn’t there, to give her constant anxiety by never taking his disgusting eyes off her?

Marinette may be in no position to do anything about it, but he was.

He stood, eerily calm as he ignored his desires to kill the unsuspecting lord. That would come later.

He took her hand, refusing to answer her questioning look as he knelt and pressed his forehead against her knuckles.

“My Lady, you need not worry about Theo any longer. I am in arms, ready and eager to serve you.”


	6. Mafia AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very short, didn't get far with this one :/ The general idea was that Adrien was either a boss or the boss's son, and he and Marinette dated for about a year before she couldn't live with that part of his life anymore and broke up with him. She later went on to date Luka, who has recently gone missing. And before you suspect, Adrien had nothing to do with it. Marinette, knowing the connections Adrien has, arranges a meeting with him to help find her boyfriend.

_Gabriel Fashion_

The place she once pictured herself working in everyday, making her designing dreams come true and letting the whole world know and wear her talent.

Where once she felt a sense of pride, determination, and hope, now only caused her to feel dread and a sickness that couldn’t be cured by simple medicine.

She vowed to never come back here. She swore to herself she would never even look at the building again. That horrible chapter of her life was finished, and she never wanted to revisit it.

Yet here she was, staring up at the looming building, almost expecting it to grab her and swallow her up at any second.

Before she could lose her nerve, she hastily dug into her purse and pulled out her cell phone. After pressing the main button and seeing her lock screen, she was reminded of what she was here for. All the fear and trepidation she felt disappeared as she gazed at the fond memory, his arm slung over her shoulders and lips pressed to her cheek.

_Luka. You’re here for Luka. Don’t let him down._


	7. Cinderella AU 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yet another Cinderella AU idea, although this one is modern

Interns were not allowed to go to the company social.

Only designers and higher-ups were eligible to attend. Interns were strictly forbidden and if one tried to show up, they’d be turned away and likely wake up without an internship the next morning.

Which is why Marinette is appalled that her mentor is urging her to go.

“Gracie, I can’t go. I’m an intern and I need this internship!”

“Come on, no one will notice,” Gracie replied, waving off her concerns. “It’ll be a great opportunity to network and meet a ton of influential designers.” She grinned. “You might leave without an internship, but you could walk out with a job instead.”

It was tempting. Breaking out into the fashion world was hard enough. She remembered how hard it was to get this internship at Gabriel. Meeting other designers and networking would be crucial to Marinette’s success.

But…

“I can’t risk it,” Marinette decided, shaking her head. “I’m sorry. I fought too much to get this internship in the first place. I won’t risk having it taken away and leaving me with nothing.”

Gracie frowned. “I know it’s a little risky-”

“A little?!”

“ _But_ , there’s a way that you’ll have a lesser chance at being caught. The social is going to be a masque. As long as you wear a mask for the whole night, no one will know it’s you.”

“I still don’t think-”

“Marinette,” Gracie interrupted sternly. She crossed her arms together and leaned back in her desk chair. Frowning, she slightly lowered her designer sunglasses to level her protégé with a heavy look.


	8. Greek Mythology AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a list of gods and goddesses I compiled for my Greek Mythology AU, My Little Flower. Not very well put together, but it kept me on track :)

Marinette: goddess of spring and good fortune (Persephone)

Adrien: god of misfortune and destruction, King of the Underworld (Hades)

Sabine: goddess of the harvest/agriculture (Demeter)

Tom: god of baking and bread; makes ambrosia and nectar for the gods

Chloe: goddess of beauty and sexual desire (Aphrodite)

Lila: goddess of trickery and deceit, master of illusions

Alya: goddess of curiosity/messenger of the gods (Hermes)

Nino: god of music and protection

Max: god of the sun, knows all (Helios)

Kim: god of war/fuck buddies with Chloe/flirts with Max/gets with Ondine (Ares)

Ondine: goddess and Queen of the Sea (Poseidon)

Alix: goddess of speed and victory (Nike)

Ivan: god of fire and metalworking/blacksmith/ in love with Mylene (Hephaestus)

Mylene: goddess of love/ in love with Ivan (Aphrodite)

Juleka: goddess of magic (Hecate)

Luka: god of song/has golden lyre (Apollo)

Rose: goddess of the rainbow (Iris)

Sabrina: goddess of youth/cupbearer to the gods (Hebe)

Nathanael: god of art/sculpts a statue of chloe and falls in love with it/realizes he loves her/they get together

Kagami: goddess of the hunt, chastity, and wild animals (Artemis)

Fu: god of the sky and wisdom/master of the gods (Zeus but can keep it in his pants)

Other:

Mirielle: goddess of good weather

Aurore: goddess of storms

Felix: god of death, brings the newly dead to the Underworld (Thanatos)

Special Appearances by Sisyphus and Tantalus


	9. Petty Letters AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An idea that never got past the planning stage, but I thought it was funny so I included it on here xD I wish I at least wrote a paragraph or two...

-Princess Marinette and Prince Adrien are in an arranged engagement

-They meet but due to a misunderstanding, Marinette hates Adrien

-Marinette doesn’t forgive him when he apologizes

-So now they both hate each other

-Since they refuse to see each other, their parents make them write to each other to get to know one another better

-Cue passive-aggressive and petty af letters

-“You have an idea? Then I must send my condolences, for I know it will die of loneliness by the time this letter reaches you.” (Adrien to Marinette)

-“Go forth and fuck oneself.” (Marinette to Adrien)


	10. Robin Hood AU 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another idea I had for a Robin Hood AU

Chat Noir is nothing but a treasonous, thieving outlaw who deserves to dangle from the gallows and serve as an example for those who dare defy their ruler.

…Is how some in the castle would describe him, namely Prince Andre Bourgeois along with his ‘charming’ daughter Chloe. Sir Théodore of Barbot would readily agree with that sentiment, and probably throw in a few more choice words to describe the bandit after having his pride wounded several times by his hands.

The Sheriff of Paris, Roger Raincomprix, would not say such violent words. However, he had an affinity for boasting of how he was going to catch the cunning outlaw. Although with every failed trick and trap, he seemed to be getting quieter.

The young Lady Marinette, royal ward of King Armand D’Argencourt, would describe Chat Noir much differently.

Yes, she agreed when the peasants said he was persistent, brave, skilled, and had a big, caring heart for risking his life to steal from the rich to give back to the poor.

But it was to Lady Marinette’s understanding that not many, if anyone, outside of Chat Noir’s merry little band of kittens knew him personally. As such, she was certain that she was the only one outside of Miraculous Forest who could say that Chat Noir was also annoying, roguish, a terrible flirt, reckless, and foolish.

Especially foolish. For what sane man would freely delve into the lion’s den each night just to talk to her?

“Good evening, my lady!”

Ah. Here was the clearly insane man, now.

She turned in her vanity chair to see him leaning against the stone wall by her window, arms crossed and that infernal, confident grin already curving his lips. His green eyes twinkled with humor beneath the black mask as he unflinchingly stared back at her.

Marinette rolled her eyes and stood from her chair.

“You’re a little early tonight.”

He bowed. “I apologize if I’ve inconvenienced my lady, but I simply couldn’t wait another moment longer to see you.”

There. It was those kinds of lines that deemed him a terrible flirt in her eyes. Not only was it a cliché thing to say, but she practically saw it coming since she acknowledged his premature visit.

Although, she had to begrudgingly admit that his flirtations might’ve worked if he truly meant them.

She wasn’t naïve. The rich were responsible for the poor people’s plight and although she wasn’t a true noblewoman, she had the wealth and luxuries that came with it. Her lifestyle automatically lumped her in with the rest of them.

Chat Noir robbed from the rich; he hated them. In turn, he hated her. He might’ve tried to hide it with charming smiles and pretty words, but she knew his true feelings.

Which was fine. He could hate her all he wanted; he was perfectly free to do so.

She just wished it didn’t hurt so much.

“So, any news?” he asked, shaking her from her thoughts. He sauntered closer, the sword dangling by his side drawing her eyes before they lifted to the bow and quiver of arrows on his back.

“Cavalcades transporting taxes? New traps the oh-so-clever sheriff has set? A band of noblemen gathering in the woods around a bonfire to dance around and bask in each other’s wealth?”

She smiled before she could stop herself. Of course, he noticed it if his grin widening was any indication.

Marinette cleared her throat. “No, no news regarding any of that, nor any other thing that might interest you. It seems the prince and his lackeys are stumped for now.”

“Really? Even Théo?”

“What is your fascination with Sir Théodore?” she asked, crossing her arms and raising an eyebrow. “You seem to dislike him the most, even though Prince Andre is literally the reason you’re an outlaw in the first place.”

“There’s no special fascination, nor do I single him out, my lady,” he replied airily, turning around to wander a bit around her room. It was a habit of his, to walk around inspecting everything even though he surely must’ve memorized the layout by now.

It was probably a tactic to dodge questions he didn’t want to answer truthfully. She knew he was lying. Whenever Marinette mentioned Sir Théodore, Chat Noir would immediately scowl as if merely hearing the name left a bad taste in his mouth. He never reacted that way about anyone else, not even Prince Andre or Sheriff Roger.

When she told Chat Noir of times that Sir Théodore would be in the forest, either hunting for him or guarding taxes, he would get this manic grin on his face, as if he was already picturing the humiliation Sir Théodore would suffer under his actions.

Granted, Marinette didn’t exactly find him agreeable either. He was a little too tenacious when he sought her out and subsequently held her to a conversation with no window of escape.

Then there were times when she would get positively unnerved whenever he looked at her in a certain way. At least Chat Noir pretended to gaze at her with reverence in his eyes. Sir Théodore stared at her as if she was a prize of some sort or a piece of meat meant only for his consumption. It never failed to make a chill run up her spine.

Alas, those were only her problems. They had nothing to do with Chat Noir.

But she could guess as to why Chat Noir disliked him, what with his being wealthy, mistreating the common people, and his vow to hunt down the outlaw and make him hang for his ‘crimes’. She supposed that was reason enough not to like him.

Still, it didn’t make sense why Chat Noir’s hatred seemed to be so personally rooted. Besides the pursuit to arrest him, had Sir Théodore done something to offend him?

For all she told him of the various plans for his capture, along with her own goings on in the castle, Chat Noir hardly shared details about his own life. If he and Sir Théodore had a personal disagreement, she doubted he would tell her about it if she asked.

Turning, she saw him carefully observing what lay on her vanity. Coincidentally, it was the spot where she kept her box of the limited jewelry she owned. She had offered the entire box’s contents to him numerous times, asking him to give them to the common people. She felt helpless enough about the peasants as it was; to be able to help them in any way brought a relief she never thought possible.

Alas, he never accepted.

 _“I shall never steal from you, my lady,_ ” he had said.

She pointed out that it wasn’t stealing if she was willingly giving it to him.

But he only repeated the promise.

_“I shall never steal from you, my lady.”_

That didn’t stop him from always peering inside the box, though. At first she thought he was being sneaky and stealing each trinket one by one until she would have none left. She wouldn’t have minded that; she just would’ve wished that he had told her of what he was doing instead of lying about how he could never steal from her. She detested liars. But each time she checked the box after he left, she found every single jewel in its place.

If he wasn’t stealing them, then he must’ve been looking for something. For what, she didn’t know. She asked him once what it was he was searching for, and he merely asked if she had any new additions to her box. She always replied in the negative (which was true) and he’d smile, close the box, and resume conversation as normal.

Or, as normal as you could get when speaking with an outlaw at night in your bedroom.

“Before you ask,” she started, crossing her arms. “I didn’t receive any new jewelry since your visit last night. Just tell me which one it is you want, and I’d be more than happy to help you get it.”

“I don’t want any specific jewels, my lady,” he said, closing the box. He walked closer to her, halting at a respectful distance, but one that caused her breath to hitch all the same.

It was pathetic, to be honest. Throughout the many times he visited, whenever he got close she would lose her breath, her cheeks would warm, and her knees would weaken just the slightest bit.

She had hoped that after so many visits she would have become immune to him, and while her symptoms have greatly reduced to just a mere catch of the breath, it unnerved her to know that he still held some power over her.

Could that power ever go away, she wondered? Could she ever not be affected by his charms?

“I’m just looking out for any gifts added to your collection,” he murmured, lifting her hand and pressing it to his lips.

Something dipped in her stomach and she hoped her cheeks weren’t that flushed considering how warm she felt.

“I can’t have someone sweeping you off your feet right under my nose,” he quipped, grinning against her fingers.

She _hated_ it when he said things like that. And when he grinned so mischievously. The only thing she hated more was how flustered she would get each time.

She attempted to laugh off the flirty line, but it came out so shaky and breathy that it didn’t sound the least bit convincing.

“Well, there’s nothing for you to worry about. No one’s sweeping me off my feet.”

 _Except you,_ she added, but did not dare say aloud.


End file.
